


French

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [54]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, naked cooking with non-splattering foods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 09:35:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3483290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of the One Word Bottomjohn Prompt Series.</p><p>John wants to make Sherlock breakfast in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French

Sherlock wakes up to the smell of something sweet, something cooking. He can hear the clink of dishes, the faint sizzle of the frying pan. The bed beside him is still faintly warm from where John had slept and it’s this that makes him roll out from the blankets and pad muzzily to the kitchen to find John, tousled and naked in front of the stove, his eyes still pink and his face still soft from sleep.

He smiles when he sees Sherlock, a relaxed grin that’s not quite awake. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” he says.

Sherlock grunts softly and sidles up behind John, slotting his cock against John’s arse and sliding his hands around his waist.

"Then why did you leave?" he murmurs against John’s neck, his voice hoarse from sleep, and John pushes his hips back against him, gyrating his hips to press against Sherlock’s cock.

"Real breakfast," John chides, but he doesn’t complain when Sherlock’s hand slips down to circle his cock, and when he starts to pump slowly along its length, John just moans softly, arching back into Sherlock, his hips thrusting in time with it.

"It smells good," Sherlock says, and groans as his cock slips between the cleft of John’s arse to nestle in that hot space between his thighs. "I was beginning to think you couldn’t make anything but toast."

John throws his head back on a soft cry as the head of Sherlock’s cock catches briefly at the rim of his hole.

"It is toast," he gasps, his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. "French."

Sherlock leans down, catching John’s lips briefly with his own. He runs a tongue along his lips, flushed and soft from sleep. “The French had excellent ideas,” he concedes.


End file.
